


Licence

by Oriole AlmaThrockmorton (inamac)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M, Military, Non-Explicit, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1980-04-15
Updated: 1980-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 00:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamac/pseuds/Oriole%20AlmaThrockmorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Del Tarrant remembers his initiation at the Federation Space Academy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Licence

_"You don't know Tarrant, madam. He's a man. He thinks and acts like a man... That's why he's still alive. As a man, Tarrant is worthy of honour."  
Captain V. Jarvik (Harvest of Kairos)_

***

What do you mean, kiss you? I shouldn't even be doing...this.

Yes, that's good...

Of course, Jarvik taught me. He always knew exactly what I wanted - he'd demanded it himself. How could any woman really understand like that?

No, you never really knew him. When I left the FSA I thought that I 'd never see him again. I wanted to forget. And then, after Kairos...

I didn't even dare to dream that anyone else could make me feel the way he did, although I suppose that it started the same way then. I was a raw recruit, straight out of the Admin. College, and I was terrified of Captain Jarvik. Of everything. Most of the Cadets in my class had been drafted from the Delta grades, kids with brains of solid muscle and a sense of humour that went straight over my head. I laughed more out of politeness than understanding, until one of their obscure jokes backfired with a vengeance.

I suppose I should be grateful to them. If it hadn't been for their damnfool tricks Jarvik might never have noticed me. And I wanted to be noticed. He was the one who checked the assessment papers. Captain Jarvik was going to be my passport to a pilot's licence, and a way out of that damn Cadet Corps. But I felt far from grateful on the day that Jarvik walked into the gym and barked out the order to 'freeze'.

I froze.

I was hanging by my hands from a rope about ten metres above his head. I was stark naked. I didn't really have much choice about obeying his order. Although I'd had every intention of impressing the Captain the circumstances weren't exactly to my advantage. All that I could see of him from my uncomfortable vantage point was the cap of his sun-bleached hair (he'd just returned from a tour of duty on Malos III), and a grotesquely foreshortened and ominously bulky body. His view of me must have been equally disconcerting. If he'd arrived ten seconds later I'd have had my hands around that thieving little Delta's throat and he'd have been the one in the glasshouse.

After 'fall out' that evening I considered making a bolt for freedom. Being shot going over the wall seemed marginally preferable to facing the Captain's just wrath over the morning's debacle. Dammit, a grown man shouldn't feel like a kid hauled up before the Grade Assessor but that's exactly how I felt standing outside that closed office door. He kept me waiting for fifty two minutes and I sweated my way through every slow second of them. 'The long wait' is a typical Federation interrogation technique, but in those days I was raw enough to let it bother me.

By the time the admission light blinked on was nervous as a kitten and at the same time I didn't care whether that door opened onto a herd of raging beelu, as long as it did open.

It opened on Jarvik

Have you ever seen the vid—reel of the _Mephistus_ story? Remember when the magician sees Elena for the first time? The walls of the study sort of roll away, and there she is, just standing there but somehow... inviting. It was like that. Almost a theatrical effect. He was standing by the desk and the lamp on it was was tilted upwards, silhouetting him so that highlights gleamed silver across his black uniform. He was playing the executioner, dangerous and subtle. The light form the lamp was dazzling. Another interrogator's trick. You've been up against Federation inquisitors. Do you know how I felt? I'd have given anything to have been able to keep my cool, but recognising a trick doesn't prevent it from working.

My mind was racing, but I couldn't think of anything to say, except that I'd been caught for something that wasn't my fault. I almost said it. I was looking a dishonourable discharge in the face and my mind was as blank as my future. I was so preoccupied with thinking up a plausible excuse that I didn't even hear what the Captain said until the third repetition.

He called me Del.

Not 'Tarrant', not 'Cadet', but 'Del' And he sounded exactly like my brother; exasperated.

He wanted to know what I'd been doing up that rope.

The directness of the question shocked me into telling him the truth (or maybe it was the effect of that damn interrogation lamp) I told him that I'd wanted to impress him.

They said in the Corps that nothing short of the undivided attention of' the Supreme Commander herse1f could shake Captain Jarvik. They were wrong.

He looked at me with an expression I didn't recognise. I'm still not sure whether it was surprise or hunger.

"You succeeded," he said "I am impressed.

***

After that Jarvic seemed to be everywhere. Out touring the ranges when my Corps was scheduled for target practice; inspecting parade grounds when we were drilling; overhauling his black fighter whenever we were in the hangar workshops. He even decided to make an inventory of the kitchens when I was on cook detail. I couldn't avoid him. I had. to keep reminding myself about that pilot's licence though, whenever the others called me 'Captain Jarvic's blue-eyed boy'.

Things came to a head the day we started the communications course. Jarvik walked in while we were running the morse-pulse tests, and if you think morse-code is a primitive form of communication It's not half as primitive as the messages I was reading in Jarvik's eyes.

When I got back to the dorm a more conventional message was waiting for me. A note - and the key to his apartment.

I 'd have been a fool to ignore the summons. After all, he was my commanding officer and he could still have me thrown out of the service after that incident in the gym. Besides, I was curious. I still wasn't too sure what Jarvik wanted of me.

Looking back on it I doubt if he knew. I don't think that he expected to find me waiting when he got back that night, but he wasn't the sort of man to pass up an opportunity. Servalan found that out.

I was early, of course, but this time I didn't have to sweat it out in the corridor. I half expected the key to activate an alarm mechanism as I let myself in, but nothing happened. The door opened quietly onto a regulation Captain's lodging.

I should have stayed in that main room poured myself a drink from the well-stocked cabinet, and. sat down to wait. Instead I decided to do some exploring.

Jarvik must have had contacts in the black market. Most of the place was furnished with standard. issue stuff, but the bedroom was like something out of an old porn reel - mirrored ceiling, black marble panelling, long haired fur rugs and a steel-framed bed piled with enough black silk to lose a starship in.

I was fool enough to be sitting on it when he walked in.

I can't even remember what I said. Whatever it was, he ignored it. I know I was probably grinning like a maniac. The situation was so impossible. _First term cadet found in Officer's bedroom_ \- I could see the headline, under the one that read _Court Martial_.

Who was going to believe that he'd invited me here? I didn't believe it myself. I was sure that I'd misunderstood that message, until he unbuckled. his belt and pulled his jacket and shirt off together in one swift movement. It was done so swiftly that it shocked me more than anything he might have said. This wasn't the first time!

I stood up. Maybe I could make it to the door... but he was stronger than me, and faster. He took advantage of the movement. Standing as we were, in an arrested embrace, it was all too easy for him to strip me as naked as himself. And then it was too late. Far too late for me even to pretend that I wasn't... interested.

I was still telling myself that this was his idea, that he was my Commanding Officer, and whatever he commanded me to do I could hardly be held responsible for, as he pushed me back onto the bed.

I found myself looking up at him from much the same angle as he had seen me in the gym. I burned with remembered embarrassment. Then he was beside me, a hand on my hot flesh, feeling muscles corded and tense with nervous anticipation.

I closed my eyes and felt his hair brush across my chest as he bent his head, nuzzling like a cat. He was trembling. I thought then that he must be as nervous as I was, too anxious to distinguish between fear and lust. Perhaps that was what decided me. I was too late to pull away, and he was too strong for me. I made one last attempt before lips closed on mine, I brought up a hand to fend him off, and my fingers encountered that mat of short, wiry hair, brushed at beads of sweat.. .and then tactile sensation was everything.

My hands moved on his body almost as eagerly as his on mine. I stopped trying to find excuses, stopped trying even to think. Jarvik's skin was hot against mine, his hands sensitive, agile. He knew so much. Every touch drew a response, throat, and spine, and thigh... I tried to follow him, to give something in return, but nothing had ever prepared me for this. I was so naive, and painfully aware of my incompetence; but what did he expect? This had been his idea. And he was obviously experienced. If I hurt him it was his fault.

Jarvik shifted, aware of my distraction. Perhaps I had whispered my fear, I wasn't sure of what I was saying anymore. At any rate he moved his tongue for long enough to reassure me before his head bent again to its task. Then I realised what he was doing.

Human anatomy wasn't designed. to accommodate what he was trying to achieve - at least, not male human anatomy. It was physically impossible...

Even as I debated the point mentally the impossible happened.

My being imploded...

***

When I woke next morning I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. I was stone cold sober, I could remember every detail of the night before and I was aching in places that I hadn't realised I possessed. There was a cold fear churning in my stomach and my mind was telling me that I ought to feel sick, although the message hadn't yet got around to my nerve centres. I felt dirty and stale and the first priority was a shower.

I was lucky. Jarvik had a private cubicle adjoining his bedroom. I prayed that the sound of the water wouldn't wake him, and that prayer at least was answered. He was still sound asleep when I left.

For the next few days I was living on my nerves. Half the time I was terrified that Jarvik would summon me again and for the rest of the time I was equally scared that he'd forgotten all about me. After a week I was almost ready to call on him. Even if he threw me out of his apartment at least I'd know where I stood. Almost. But before I had a chance to make a fool of myself the flight training schedules were posted. My personal instructor was listed as Captain Veo Jarvik.

I didn't know what to feel. The night before the first flight tutorial I lay awake playing over our meeting in my mind. I greeted Jarvik with every variation in tone from coolly casual to forgetfully indifferent. By the time I was waiting on the tarmac with the rest of the class I felt emotionally drained.  
Jarvik sauntered across with the other flight tutors, chatting casually, his helmet tucked under one arm, the face-mask hanging by its strap around his neck. He did not even look up as the assignment roll was called, just nodded in my direction and set off to the waiting training ships. I fell in behind him. I was trying to play it cool, but when I saw the ship he was heading for I couldn't suppress an exclamation.

It was a Mark One, for star's sake! A decrepit old heap that would have been scrapped years before if the Academy hadn't been short of funds. The thing was only kept spaceworthy because the Corps could spare the hands to give it hourly overhauls. That ship had been stripped more frequently than Gigi Latour and was just about as trustworthy. If Jarvik had. been trying to convince my classmates that I wasn't teacher's pet he'd pulled a masterstroke in giving me that heap of garbage. I could hear them laughing clear across the spacefield. Every last one of them assigned to an R.L.S. fighter that was practically straight off the drawing board and me with that heap. By the time I reached the boarding steps I was seething. Jarvik pushed me aboard before I could make a public spectacle of myself, but in the control cabin I really let him have it.

"What you're saying," he said when I paused for breath, "is that you don't want to pilot this ship."

I told him that that wreck didn't need a pilot, it needed a nursemaid. Maybe that was why he told me to take the controls for lift off, or maybe he'd just forgotten that this was my first flight and even after a full course on the simulator no pilot ever gets to handle an unassisted lift first time out. But it wasn't worth arguing about it. If I was being given an opportunity to set a precedent I wasn't going to chicken out - not in front of Jarvik.

I took the pilot's seat and ran the pre-flight checks, handling the obsolete controls with the delicacy that antiques demand. Taking her up was surprisingly easy. For all that she looked like a prime candidate for the scrap heap she handled like a President Class cruiser. There wasn't a trace of vibration as I shifted over to hy-D and she cruised into orbit at a comfortable time-distort three with no trouble at all.

Watching the others on the display screen making a hash of their transitions made me feel a lot happier about the ship I was piloting. The R.L.S. class are. superb fighter ships but they weren't designed for planetary launch, and looking at that bunch bucking around like a flight of vultures with hiccups I decided that I was handling the Mark One rather well. I was surprised when Jarvik cut in the dual control systems and activated the board in front of him.

"Not bad," he observed. "Now let's see you handle her in close combat."

I didn't believe him. Taking on close combat conditions in that wreck was certain suicide, but you don't argue with your Captain. They call it mutiny on the charge sheet. I just sat by speechless as he opened a communications channel to the rest of the fleet and organised Exercise 1/6; seek, locate and destroy enemy craft. A full- scale, shoot-to-kill exercise. And he designated our ship as the target.

The first shot grazed our nose while I was still watching him in open-mouthed amazement. Then I grabbed for the controls. The ship lurched, missing a second salvo more by luck than anything else. This was madness. Six top-grade fighters against an obsolete space tug. Even Blake would have thought twice about taking on those odds. I had only one advantage, and one chance. They weren't operating as a team yet. If I could split them up even more... I fired my own guns and saw one drop away from the impact. He hadn't got his force shield up in time. Even under exercise conditions an unscreened plasma bolt can shake the decks loose. I was determined that my ship wasn't going to get hit. It would probably fall apart.

Two more ships were closing in on a V formation ram course, with me at the projected point of impact. They wouldn't carry it through, I knew that. They were waiting for me to drop, or rise, or back away (space combat is almost impossible to plan strategically; like in 3D chess, your opponent always has three possible lines of retreat). I don't think that they expected me to advance. The two ships dived past and pulled away from the impact point just as the three covering fighters loosed their fire. If I'd been there I wouldn't be telling you this now. I think even Jarvik was shaken. I heard a sharp intake of breath beside me but I was concentrating on evading the follow-up of those fighters. I touched the over-drive, trying to nurse enough speed out of the hulk to spin her and double back on my adversaries. I didn't expect the old controls to respond with the speed of the simulator so I wasn't braced for what happened next.

We left those R.L.S. ships behind in seconds. I think we must have been running damn close to lightspeed but I was too surprised to check the readings and by the time I'd recovered my wits Jarvik had taken over the controls and we were in a space- lane which was not only deserted but which I was damn sure I'd never seen marked on any star charts at the Academy. There was no sign of any pursuit. At that point I forgot that I was a cadet under training. I defy even you to keep your cool under those conditions. I swore.

"By all that's holy, Jarvik! There isn't a ship in the fleet that could catch this wreck!"

He smiled, concentrating on the instrument readings.

"Appearances can be deceptive," he said, and I couldn't be sure that he was referring to the ship. In fact I still didn't know why Jarvik had selected me as his pupil, or if he had, and I wanted every opportunity to prove that I could be a good pilot. Comments like that didn't make It easy for me. I was almost relieved when he left to check out the rear flight compartment. The silence between us was becoming awkward. The whole situation had. me so off balance that although I must have been staring at that instrument board for what seemed like hours I didn't see the important thing until it was almost too late.

I dived for the communicator and I must have practically yelled the words.

"We're almost out of fuel, Captain!"

He didn't reply. I hit the button again. I was more specific the second time.

"Captain Jarvik, our fuel gauges are registering empty. We burned up a lot on that attack run ."

Would he blame me? After all, I hadn't used standard evasion tactics. I hadn't even been thinking about the fuel situation. It hadn't seemed important - then. It was getting more important by the second and if Jarvik wasn't going to answer I'd have to take the situation into my own hands. Maybe that was it. That was what he wanted. This was just another training exercise.

I switched to the backup tanks. The figures on the gauge flickered and steadied at zero. The other instruments started to concur. My stomach turned over. Where the hell was Jarvik? I decided to stall for time and did a re-check on the instruments. I was in the middle of it when the intercom buzzed and. Jarvik's irate voice blared round the cabin.

"Tarrant," he demanded. "What the hell are you playing at up there?"

I grabbed the comm and started to explain what had happened. He cut me off in mid-flow to ask if his flight program was still running.

His flight program!

This was my first flight and the FSA training manual said nothing about what to do if you were stuck in an (apparently) decrepit old hulk in a deserted space lane with no fuel to get back to base and a Captain with no sense of responsibility. I would have told him what he could do with his flight program but it wouldn't have helped my career so I tersely reported the exact conditions of the flight status. I must have sounded nervous because his reply was an exasperated bark.

"Quit worrying, Tarrant, and come down here. You haven't seen everything that this ship has yet."

It was what she hadn't got which worried me — like back-up fuel cells. But not even that information seemed to impress him with the gravity of the situation. I decided that the only thing to do was to obey him. If necessary I could make the Captain see reason by main force. With that in mind I took my gun with me to the rear section.

The warmth hit me first. An enveloping snugness which filled the area like a blanket of down. I wondered whether the energy cells had overloaded and discharged through the heating system. Perhaps that was why Jarvik had called me.

I took a step forward - and dropped the gun in surprise.

It floated away, bounced off a bulkhead and came waltzing back in a lazy spiral to hover six inches in front of my eyes. I jumped - and. the floor fell away. My head was spinning, or maybe it was the room which was going round. I wasn't too sure because the door seemed to be receding rapidly behind me, although I never moved. Then a hand grabbed my ankle and Jarvik hauled himself up to face me. He was none too careful about where he put his hands. He plucked the floating gun out of the air and slid it back into my holster. He was grinning.

"What I like about this old ship," he said, "is the fact that she's never had grav-generators installed on the back-up systems."

I made some inane comment about the power unit failure but Jarvik was too busy unfastening his jump suit to listen. It wasn't until he started undoing mine that I realised that the power failure was no accident.

"Jarvik," I bleated. "What are you doing?" Another inane question. I had my hand on the sheath of the weapon I'd brought with me. Jarvik was crazy. Was there anything in the Regulations about shooting your Captain for attempted rape?

"Have you ever heard," he asked, somewhat muffled by the fact that he had half wrapped himself in my trousers (you should try undressing someone in zero-G, it's not easy, but it can be fun), "of the Mile High Club?"

I was naked now, and he pulled me down to his level, or maybe he hauled himself up to mine, at any rate he took my nod. for assent.

"I thought you might like to be enrolled into something a little more exclusive - and ambitious."

"Jarvik..." I tried to push him away, but he'd had more experience under these conditions than I and simply hooked a leg around the inside of my thigh and pulled me towards him. The motion set us both spinning around that common axis. His lips cut off my protests. I was beginning to feel sick, but I couldn't pull away, there was nothing on which I could find purchase. That thought reassured me. Surely Jarvik couldn't attempt anything more under these conditions? I relaxed into the embrace, seeking for a way out, a hand hold or something within easy reach, from the corners of my eyes. Then I felt something long and hard bump against my back. Jarvic's hand moved to intercept it, and he smiled.

"Thoughtful of you," he murmured, pulling me closer so that he could grasp the object with both hands behind my back. His expression was closed, concentrating. It's an expression I've seen only once since, and that time I thought I was facing my death. Then I was terrified, Something was going to happen. Jarvik was infatuated with me. He would not do anything to hurt me. That I knew. But his idea of an unforgettable experience might not be mine. I tensed, and his eyes widened as he felt my erection jar against his. Then the universe rocked us.

He had fired my gun.

The reaction hurled us against the closed door. It should have knocked all the emotion out of me, but Jarvik didn't give me time to think. His body slammed into mine, rough skin against smooth. He was still holding the gun. His hand clasped my buttock, shifting my position, and I felt the hard shaft of the metal barrel slide between my legs, cold enough to burn my hot flesh. Cold... There's no heat-reaction from a para handgun, did you know that? And no recoil, They're not considered to be very efficient in combat, but for the purposes for which Jarvik was using it that one was more than efficient. I forgot all about the fuel cells, the ship, even the Federation. Jarvik was right when he told me he was ambitious. And that flight was the one on which I earned my reputation for doing the unexpected. He never forgot that. Even on Kairos.

We were late back, of course. And I would have been up on a charge if Jarvik hadn't pulled strings. Instead I got a commendation for combat piloting and some comments from the rest of the class which were far too close to the truth for comfort. I could no longer fool myself that I was using him, and that all I was interested in was the fact that he could get me that coveted pilot's licence. I was as fascinated by him as he seemed to be with me. When I put in for some extra training flights he made no objection, although what I was learning (and teaching) was not in the Cadet Manual.

I knew I was taking a risk, but I didn't realise how big a risk until a week before Graduation Day.

We were running test flights on the small planet-hoppers and. Jarvik had agreed to let me take up his own ship, a black Spacemaster which was strictly designed as a one- man fighter, but which Jarvik had assured me was 'cosy'. I was looking forward to finding out just what he meant by that.

He had a private locker room at the spaceport and I kept some of my gear there for convenience. There was no one about when I arrived so I started to change. About half way through the process I heard the door open and close again as Jarvik entered.

He watched me for a while, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his hazel eyes appreciative. I don't think that he realised he'd spoken aloud until I turned in surprise.

"You're a real man, Tarrant. I'll be sorry to lose you."

"Lose me?" I panicked. He stepped forward and took me in his arms, brushing back my curls to gaze deep into my eyes before he kissed me. It was a long kiss. It could have gone on forever if we hadn't been interrupted. I didn't hear the door open again. I wasn't aware of anything until the voice behind us said. one word.

"Beautiful ."

I. backed away, every inch of skin burning red. My hands flew down to cover myself, and I winced. Behind Jarvik I could see the black of a Major's uniform. The hard. eyes took in my embarrassment and the Major smiled.

"Oh yes. Very beautiful. The Supreme Commander will be most impressed."

Jarvik turned. I think he was as shocked as I was. He met his superior's stare with a snarl. "You never said anything about assigning him to Servalan," he said.

The Major seemed unconcerned. She consulted the clip-board she was carrying and. detached a card from the top of the sheaf of papers. It was the dark blue plastic of a First Class Pilot's Licence. I recognised Jarvik's signature scrawled beneath my ID number.

My licence!

Now Jarvik's goodbye was explained, but not the Major's interest. She was studying the card, and the photograph attached to it, comparing the likeness with the reality.

"I realise," she said, "that it is somewhat unusual, but the Supreme Commander is in urgent need of a personal pilot. Since Commander Travis met with his unfortunate accident he has been temporarily unable to serve her."

I couldn't understand why Jarvik was so shocked. The job of personal pilot to the Supreme Commander was something that most Cadets dreamed about, but Jarvik protested, insisting that I was fresh out of training and incapable of satisfying the heavy demands of the job. I would have argued, but the Major beat me to it.

"Commander Servalan believes in encouraging our most promising cadets," she said.

That must have touched a raw nerve in the Captain because he rounded on her.

"Like you, Major?" he queried, taking her chin in his hand, forcing her eyes to meet. his. When he looked at me like that I could refuse him nothing. The Major was hypnotised by it. She dropped the clipboard. Jarvik caught her fist as it flailed towards him, twisting her arm behind her back so that she was forced to bend over backwards as his grip tightened. She spat at him, but he had been expecting it and dodged easily. His expression was one of mild amusement; his voice held an edge of menace.

"Woman," he said, and she stopped struggling. Her eyes were frightened. I've never seen a woman look like that, but I recognised the expression. I'd seen it on my own face, mirrored in the panels over Jarvik's bed. Whatever the Major remembered of this meeting It wouldn't be me. He must have been almost breaking her arm but she still managed to kick him as he ripped her shirt off. He grunted, more in annoyance than pain, there had been no force in the kick. His hand, already between her thighs, moved brutally in retaliation and I heard her gasp in surprise.

"Try that again, woman he promised, "and it will be for the last time."

She stopped struggling and Jarvik looked over his shoulder at me, I think he'd almost forgotten about me because he looked annoyed to see me still there.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he demanded. "Take that damn Pilot's Licence and get the hell out of here - unless you want to find yourself serving the Supreme Commander?"

I protested even as I scrambled into my scattered clothing.

"But they'll find out. Hell, Jarvik, these Licence forms are registered at Central Control. If I just take this it'll be traced back to you. I can't let you blow your career for me!"

He wasn't listening. Which was just as well because that Spacemaster of his would never have held two of us. He had his hands around the Major's throat, not choking her, but holding her firmly enough that she dared not move. He flung a glance over his shoulder as I opened the door.

"Believe me, Del, if I blow anything in this dump it won't be my career. Now get moving!"

I wasn't sure that the last comment was meant for me, but I got anyway.

I was lucky. There was no one around in the corridor and by the time I reached the spaceport gates I'd managed to get most of my uniform into place. I flashed my credentials at the security guards so quickly that they never had a chance to see that the ink was practically still wet on them.

Jarvik's black ship was waiting on one of the private launch pads. I ignored the regulations and raced straight across the main field, right under the nose of a waiting passenger liner. She had just been refuelled and the ground. staff were rolling up the disconnected fuel lines. They scattered like rabbits when they saw me coming, and I almost slipped in the muck that came pouring out of the discarded pipes.

It was just as well. By this time the security guards had woken up enough to let off a couple of shots in my direction. They passed. harmlessly over my heed and I climbed to my feet and kept on running. By the time I reached the black ship I could hear the General Alarm being sounded, until I closed the doors and ran a pre-flight program to heat her up. I was ready to lift just as the security patrols came roaring across the tarmac with every siren and klaxon in the place screeching enough to drown the sound of the ignition stages. I didn't notice them. It wasn't until I hit the jets that I remembered those disconnected fuel lines.

By then it was too late to worry about it.

My farewell to Jarvik culminated in the biggest bang ever to rock Planet Earth.

***

  
What? Well, thank you for the compliment. Jarvik was so.. .masterful. I never thought that I'd ever meet anyone else as good.

But I was wrong.

Wasn't I, Avon?

THE END

***

ENVOl  
(After Ultraworld)  
Said Jarvik to Tarrant one day  
"I've a new game I'd like you to play."  
Said. Tarrant, "My dear,  
I've discovered, I fear,  
That Dayna's a much better lay."

**Author's Note:**

> _Licence_, written in Spring 1980, has the distinction of being the first 'slash' story to be published in _Blakes Seven_ fandom. (Though by no means the first to be written.) It was originally destined for a projected zine to be produced by the _Liberator Popular Front_ fan group under the title _Seven Up_, but languished in the files for years before publication in _The Big Boy's Book of 1001 Things to do in Zero Gravity with a Federation Handblaster_ in 1983.
> 
> It is often described as an 'Avon/Tarrant' fic – in fact it was never intended as such, and is presented here as 'Tarrant/Jarvik'.


End file.
